


clint barton's collection of curious objects

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But I had fun, But That's Not Part of the Sex, Comedy and Porn, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, POV Bucky Barnes, Tentacles, The One With The Bad Dragon Dildos, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: What’s interesting are the objects on it - a line of sculptures of some description. Bucky’s not entirely sure what they’re meant to be apart from one, which he can identify as a tentacle. They’re in a varied range of colours, some marbled and some more of a rainbow - a fair amount of them are purple, which isn’t surprising considering whose house it is.It’s kinda weird, though.“Didn’t take you for the artistic type,” Bucky says as an aside to Clint, and Steve chokes on his coffee.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 55
Kudos: 300





	clint barton's collection of curious objects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyishBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/gifts).



> From my cabinet of delights, a fic for Bobbi. I hope it lives up to your wildest fantasies, and makes you laugh, just a little.

Bucky doesn’t think much about it at first. He makes a comment, sure, but he doesn’t _think_ about it.

They’ve been to Clint’s apartment a few times before. It’s not a common occurrence Nowadays Clint only spends a few days a week there - because all the fun is happening in the Compound, he says. Bucky suspects he just gets lonely being by himself for longer than a week.

Either way, most of their hangout sessions are conducted at the Compound, but sometimes they’re in Bed-Stuy and they just need to crash immediately.

“Another job well done, Cap,” Clint announces as they all bundle into his apartment, ignoring the stares from his elderly neighbour across the way. “Celebratory drink?”

“Just coffee, thanks,” Steve says.

“I don’t know where his optimism comes from,” Sam comments. “We barely got out of that alive and he thinks it’s a good job?”

“We’ve all died before, Wilson,” Bucky says. “It ain’t exactly something that stops people anymore.”

Sam doesn’t have a snippy retort for that one, mostly because it’s true. Bucky’s at that point where he’d be surprised if anyone died permanently, bad guy or not. Steve sits down in one of Clint’s rickety chairs, favouring his left leg heavily, and Sam sinks down next to him. He’s got a nasty cut just above his eyebrow.

Bucky’s not as battered as the others - perks of being a sniper up high, he gets injured a hell of a lot less - so while Clint makes the coffee, he takes a moment to look around.

Clint’s interior decor is a far cry from Tony’s clean white walls and sleek black floors, that’s for sure. Most of it’s in one or another shade of purple, and there’s cracks in the walls and arrows stuck in the plaster. Bucky treads on a pellet of dog food and grimaces, whistles for Lucky to come over and get rid of it.

It’s then that he notices the shelf.

It must have been there the last time he’d been here, but he clearly hadn’t been paying attention.

The shelf is a plain brown, nothing exciting.

What’s interesting are the objects on it - a line of sculptures of some description. Bucky’s not entirely sure what they’re meant to be apart from _one_ , which he can identify as a tentacle. They’re in a varied range of colours, some marbled and some more of a rainbow - a fair amount of them are purple, which isn’t surprising considering whose house it is.

It’s kinda weird, though.

“Didn’t take you for the artistic type,” Bucky says as an aside to Clint, and Steve chokes on his coffee.

“I didn’t make those,” Clint replies distractedly.

“Art connoisseur, then,” Bucky says.

Sam’s snickering quietly and Bucky assumes it’s because of the absurd nature of the whole situation; Clint Barton, classy enough to have an art display on his wall. Considering Bucky’s seen him eat burgers off the ground, it is pretty funny.

Clint makes a funny face at that, though, and Bucky’s about to ask when the villain that they thought they’d benched flies through the window and tackles Steve, sending coffee flying everywhere.

Bucky forgets about the shelf.

The next time Bucky ends up in Clint’s apartment, they’re working their way into a relationship of some sort.

Bucky’s calling it a _relationship of some sort_ because neither of them are great at discussing their feelings about _anything_ , let alone each other. It’s just that they’re not entirely platonic with their affections towards each other. Bucky’s fine with it - Clint’s funny and charming and absolutely hopeless, and he’s never willingly eaten a slice of fruit in his life but there’s something special about him anyway.

He assumes Clint reciprocates at least some of that, given that _he_ kissed _Bucky_ first.

“We should move this to the bedroom,” Clint says breathlessly. “Kate has a key and I’ve traumatized her enough already.”

He’s sprawled out on the couch underneath Bucky with his shirt tugged to the side, pants half-zipped and irises swallowed up by black. Bucky’s braced on his elbows, close enough that when he stops kissing Clint he can see the red marks he’s left in a trail right up the line of Clint’s neck.

“In a second,” Bucky says, leans in to catch Clint’s lips again.

‘In a second’ turns out to be the complete _opposite_ of that, because Clint’s mouth is addictive and he keeps squeezing Bucky’s waist with his thighs. Bucky’s guilty of not staying still too, although his movement could just be called _grinding_ rather than anything more elegant.

Bucky would be happy with just this forever if he’s honest, scraping his thumbnail over Clint’s nipple through his shirt to hear the gasp it earns him, bites at Clint’s lip hard enough to sting. Clint’s easy for it, squirming against the couch cushions and moaning loud enough that the neighbours are probably going to complain later. Bucky likes it - he’s kind of smug over how well he can push all of Clint’s buttons.

“ _Bed_ , Barnes,” Clint says. It’d be more convincing if he wasn’t arching his back to try and rub his dick against Bucky’s stomach.

“Fine,” Bucky answers, gets one arm around Clint’s waist and his feet on the ground. Then he lifts Clint in his arms like he’s six feet and three inches of feathers and turns towards the stairs up to the bedroom.

“You should probably stop manhandling me if you want this to last longer than five minutes,” Clint says in his ear.

Bucky gets his free hand on the curve of Clint’s ass, squeezes hard. “I’ll take that risk.”

As he’s dropping Clint on the mattress and crawling on top of him, he notices one of the sculptures has been moved. It’s sitting on a stack of drawers on its side, marbled red and black with a clear tube coming out of one end.

From this angle, it almost looks like a-

“If you don’t take your pants off now, I’m gonna text Steve and tell him you’re not putting out,” Clint says, and Bucky loses his train of thought in favour of ripping off his jeans. God, he really doesn’t want to see the look on Steve’s face when he realizes Bucky has a sex life again.

Also, well. Fucking Clint so hard he forgets his own name is a priority anyway.

“You’d think we could go one day without a damn alien attack,” Sam says. “Don’t they have holidays like the rest of us?”

“What, you getting tired? Your old age must be catching up with you,” Bucky remarks, and Sam elbows him. They saw the ship set down in Central Park, but the alien itself seems to be missing. Strangely enough there’s been no damage to any buildings yet and no outlandish demands they send their leader over to be devoured.

Instead they’re just wandering around the city in search of something strange. Most of the team’s split up on their own, but civilians still get nervous when they see Bucky so Sam’s trailing around after him, making smart comments. Bucky wishes it was Clint.

“What kind of an alien do you think it is?”

“Humanoid, hopefully,” Sam says. “Speaks English. Hot.”

“You’re kinda boring, Wilson,” Bucky replies, because there’s still a tiny part of him that loves all the weird shit that goes on in the world. (He used to dream about flying cars and being up amongst the stars, a lifetime ago.) “Where’s the fun in a human alien?”

“You don’t have a problem with it being hot, it just has to be a monster? Got some weird priorities, Barnes,” Sam says, and then there’s an awkward cough over the comms.

“I, uh,” Clint says. “I think I found the alien?”

Steve’s voice cuts in immediately. “What’s it doing? Where are you? Are civilians in danger?”

“Nope,” and Clint’s voice is a little strained. “No one’s in danger, but if you could come and maybe move it, I’d appreciate that. JARVIS, send coordinates.”

It’s worrying. Bucky’s - he _knows_ Clint isn’t as hardy as him or Steve, and he doesn’t have a fancy suit. It’s not that Bucky wants to be mother-henning everyone on the team, it’s just that he can’t help it sometimes. People get _hurt_ and he doesn’t like it, he’s never liked it. It’s part of why Hydra had so much trouble at the start; someone cries out in pain and he’d snap out of it, stop doing whatever e’d been ordered to do.

Nowadays a lot of his worrying lies with Clint.

He doesn’t have anything to worry about this time.

“Is it… hurting you at all?"

“Nope,” Clint says, grimacing a little. “It’s just kind of slimy. It stuck onto me the minute I saw it.”

“Well, this doesn’t seem to be the big problem it was made out to be,” Steve says, his head tilted to the side as the wriggling green mass stuck to Clint’s leg begins extending tendrils out towards them as well. “It’s almost cute.”

“You have weird standards for cute,” Sam says.

“Of course he does,” Bucky remarks. “He’s dating you.”

Sam smacks him for that. It barely even stings and Bucky rolls his eyes briefly before he realizes Steve’s watching them with his arms crossed. Ugh, whatever. It’s like having his mother on missions with him sometimes. Bucky loves Steve, but he’d sooner rip his own arm off (again) than deal with those disapproving stares for a prolonged amount of time.

“Is anyone gonna get this off of me?”

The alien has started wrapping itself around Clint’s waist now. Clint’s not struggling a whole lot, which is probably sensible. They don’t know if it’s aggressive. As Bucky watches it tries to poke a tentacle in Clint’s mouth, although luckily Clint’s quick enough that he can lean out of the way.

“What’s it even _doing_?”

“I should call… someone,” Steve says. “Maybe Thor knows what it is.”

“Think it’s flirting with you, Barton,” Sam comments.

“That’s very flattering, but I’m, uh,” Clint says, pushing his shirt down when curious tentacles push it up. “Taken? Kinda?”

“Who’d be crazy enough to date you?” Sam says. “They must have a screw loose, hey Barnes?”

Sam nudges Bucky with his elbow as if to say _get a load of this guy_. Bucky would elbow him back, except there’s ice freezing over in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Clint dating someone else. He hadn’t thought there _was_ someone else. Oh god, what if Clint’s only _kinda_ taken because he slept with Bucky and whoever he’s in a relationship with found out?

“You’d have to ask him that,” Clint answers distractedly, but his eyes catch Bucky’s at that moment and he smiles briefly.

Oh. _He’s_ the guy who’s got Clint kinda taken.

The ice melts and he’s left feeling a little stupid. At least he’s not the side chick, or whatever it is that Peter calls it.

Yeah. He’s the main chick.

“Is someone gonna get this off of me? It’s- it’s getting a little handsy.”

“How can it be _handsy_ if it doesn’t have hands?”

Bucky moves to help but Steve gets there first and as he reaches out with one gloved hand, the alien latches onto him instead, leaving Clint slimy and a little pink in his cheeks. Sam points at Steve and starts laughing, doing absolutely nothing to be useful, and Bucky figures Steve can handle himself and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at the goop on Clint’s throat, just above a bruise he’d left there.

“You alright?”

“This… is not the weirdest thing I’ve been in the middle of,” Clint answers, flicking some slime off of his fingers and onto the concrete. Steve squawks somewhere behind Bucky and Sam’s cackling grows in volume.

“The tentacles remind me of those weird sculptures you have,” Bucky says absently. “Wrong colour, though.”

“I’m trying very hard not to make that connection, Buck,” Clint says.

Bucky doesn’t know what that means, so he just goes back to getting rid of the slime.

“Steve, can I borrow your- for fuck’s sake, my _eyes_ ,” Bucky says, slapping his fingers over his face so he doesn’t have to see Sam’s bare ass or Steve’s dick. “In the lounge? Really?”

“We’re all adults here, James,” Natasha says, and a second later Steve makes a loud squeaking noise that Bucky _really_ doesn’t want to know about.

“I don’t care if we’re adults, I don’t want to see any more of Wilson than I have to,” Bucky answers, but he drops his hand anyway because he’s curious about the flash of blue and grey he’d seen. “Is that one of those things Clint has?”

“It was a birthday present,” Natasha says smoothly, like that explains everything.

Steve’s got his face in his hands, and what skin Bucky can see is bright red. At least he’s trying to cover his dick with a pillow. Sam isn’t trying to cover anything at all and just looks displeased that they’ve been interrupted, and Natasha’s got the barest hint of a smirk on her face.

She’s wearing a harness and lacy underwear that covers things, at least. Bucky can’t handle seeing all _three_ of them mostly naked at once.

“What did you- uh, what did you want, Buck?”

“You know what? Nevermind,” Bucky says, suddenly finding himself relating to Kate Bishop all of a sudden. “I’m leaving now. Please fuck in the bedroom like normal people.”

“I’m gonna fuck Steve in your bed,” Sam calls out when he’s leaving.

“I’m gonna tell Stark that it was you who ate the last blueberry muffin,” Bucky yells back, hears a muffled _shit_.

Damn right he’s going to ruin their sex a little as revenge.

They’re halfway through an increasingly serious game of Uno when a lightbulb clicks on inside Bucky’s brain. He slaps down a reverse card and then pauses as Sam groans, suddenly remembering what he’d walked in on earlier.

“Why’re you using those sculpture things during sex? Can’t Wilson get it up anymore?”

He asks when Steve’s in the middle of taking a mouthful of water and he splutters, spraying water all over the table. Steve keeps coughing and Thor pats him on the back hard enough to hurt. Natasha’s watching Bucky with one eyebrow cocked, though. The look on her face isn’t the usual one she uses when Bucky’s making fun of Sam - it’s amused more than anything else, like Bucky’s said something funny.

“You really think they’re art sculptures, huh,” Sam says.

Clearly he’s missing something here but he’s still not sure what it is, because if they’re not weird art sculptures then they’re something _else_ , something to do with sex and- _oh_. That one that had sort of looked like a dick in Clint’s room.

Come to think of it, a lot of them were vaguely dick-shaped.

Hang on.

Bucky’s even more lost for a second and then- “wait, those are-”

“Yep,” Sam says with a hint of glee in his voice.

“And you use them to-”

“ _Yep_ ,” Sam repeats, and he’s grinning from ear to ear now.

Oh god.

Now he feels like an idiot. How did he not realize before now that _that’s_ what they were? All the signs were there. Why would Steve get embarrassed over something that was just art, after all? Bucky’s never going to be able to face anyone in this room again. He’s moving to Romania again, or somewhere further, where no one will be able to find him.

Tony is deaf to Bucky’s inner lament. “Are we talking about Barton’s monster dildo collection?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Not that Barnes knows that.”

Bucky’s face heats up. “Fuck _off_.”

“What, no one told you that Clint’s kinky? Surely it’s not breaking news. Wasn’t he getting molested by an alien this week?”

“That was _not_ on purpose,” Clint says.

“You telling me you wouldn’t have gone for it?”

“I hate you,” Clint says as the same time Bucky says, “shut _up_.”

“Ha, now they’re embarrassed,” Tony remarks. “Cute.”

Bucky turns on Clint. He’d jab a finger accusingly, except if he touches Clint right now he’s going to catch on fire with the heat of his own humiliation. “Why are _you_ blushing? You’re the one displaying your fucking sex toys on a goddamn shelf!”

If possible, Clint goes even redder.

“You know what? I’m not dealing with you fuckers right now. And _you_ ,” he says, waving a hand in Clint’s direction while staring over his shoulder so there’s no eye contact. “I- nevermind.”

Lithuania’s good this time of year, right? He can go to Lithuania.

Bucky spends a long time staring at his bedroom ceiling. 

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Clint’s got a whole shelf of the things and he hadn’t even been _shy_ about it until Bucky had said something. Bucky doesn’t even think he was blushing because he was shy at all, just caught off-guard. No one who has a display of sex toys on a shelf in their house is actually embarrassed about the sex.

Clint sure does have a lot of them, though.

Is that normal? He hadn’t thought it was normal. Sure, he knew dildos were a thing. It’s easier than bothering to try and make a connection with an actual human being, he gets that. He’d never really considered ordering one himself - god, imagine it getting delivered to the Compound, he wouldn’t live that down.

He’d never really found the appeal from a hunk of silicone but now he’s thinking about Clint using those oddly pretty monster dicks, it’s kind of… appealing?

Bucky grabs his laptop and clicks on the PornHub bookmark that Tony had left there as a joke.

A little research won’t hurt, right?

“Hey,” Clint says from the other side of the door, and Bucky slams his laptop shut.

"Hi," he returns cautiously.

“Are you gonna like, run away if I come in? Should I text instead?”

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh. He knows if he tells Clint to go away he _will_ go away, and as humiliated as he is, he doesn’t want Clint to go away. Even if he’s not said it out loud, Clint’s company is massively preferable to being alone with his own thoughts. He pushes his laptop off the bed and sits up, trying to look as if he _hasn’t_ been looking at porn.

“You alone?”

“Yup,” Clint answers. “Unless you’re counting the cloud of embarrassment following me around. I think it’s gained sentience.”

The door creaks open a second later and there’s Clint, looking a little sheepish. He’s still wearing the clothes he’d had on during the card game with the addition of a familiar-looking grey hoodie, and Bucky realizes it’s familiar because it belonged to _him_ at one point.

Bucky shifts to the side and Clint perches on the side of the mattress tentatively, back turned.

The silence hangs over them for a second and then Clint sighs and visibly deflates. “Is this a problem?”

“A problem,” Bucky repeats.

“I mean,” Clint says. “It’s weird? I know it’s weird. My ex-wife bought me one for Christmas awhile back as a joke because she thought I slept with one of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and then it was fun so I got another, and suddenly I had ten and they didn’t all fit in a drawer. I don’t know. They’re neat.”

_Neat_. He snorts. A question presents itself in Bucky’s mind. “Did you _want_ the alien to molest you?”

“You’re the only one I want molesting me,” Clint answers.

As weird of a sentence that is, it’s kind of sweet too. Bucky can’t help the smile that fights its way onto his lips. Clint can’t see it because he’s staring at the wall though, and Bucky can see the anxiety written all over the side of his face.

“But seriously,” Clint says, and Bucky can almost _feel_ his self-esteem issues from here. “I get it if you don’t want to do this anymore. You’re an old-fashioned kinda guy and honestly I wasn’t even expecting you to be into guys, so I won’t cause any drama if you-”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts, decides this isn’t going to stop until he physically banishes the sudden lack of confidence. Clint goes when Bucky tugs him onto the mattress properly, pushes his wrists into the sheets. It settles something soft in Bucky’s stomach, seeing how easy Clint lets him take charge.

(The bruises on his skin have started fading away already. That’s got to be fixed.)

“Hi,” Clint says, and how the hell did Bucky ever think there was another person when Clint’s whole face lights up when they make eye contact? Bucky’s gotta kiss him.

“I’m not dumping you,” Bucky tells him. “That was fucking horrible and I hate Wilson and Stark, but it ain’t your fault.”

“Oh.” Clint relaxes. "And the-"

“I’m okay with your sex toy shelf if you’re okay with letting me watch,” he says, and then realizes what he’s just implied. “I mean- shit, you don’t have to-”

“I’m okay with that,” Clint says quickly. He doesn’t look entirely sure about it, but _Bucky_ isn’t sure about it either. Why the fuck had he said that out loud? Maybe the alien stole his brain when it went back to its home planet.

And people think _Clint_ is a disaster.

“Hey Barnes,” Sam calls when he’s walking back into the reception of a hotel they’re commandeered for this week’s mission. “Got another _art sculpture_ to show you.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself with it instead,” Bucky yells back, ignoring the resigned sigh that he’s getting from Steve.

Steve can eat a dick. Sam’s picked the wrong time to be a jerk, too. Bucky’s losing a lot of his qualms about killing people. He’s not supposed to be on a mission in the middle of Russia, he’s supposed to be in Clint’s apartment with _Clint_. He doesn’t even want to look at Steve right now for dragging him out here unexpectedly. God, he was going to buy dinner and everything.

“Where was the target, Buck?”

“Coffee place down the street. Nothing exciting.” His phone vibrates in his pocket and he slides it out without looking at the screen, taps in his code.

“Alright,” Steve says, writes something down in his notepad.

Bucky takes the opportunity to look at his phone. The text’s from an unidentified number, but it’s easy enough to guess who it is. _they got a pizza joint there?_

_it’s a tiny town in the middle of nowhere,_ he types back. _what do you think_

_yeah,_ Clint replies. _sorry_.

Bucky goes back to sniping at Steve for a while after that, until he gets a new text from Clint. It’s got a picture attached. The text itself doesn’t say much at all, just _got bored -_ _nsfs_. Bucky’s glad he got caught up on text speech a while ago and successfully decodes it as Not Safe For Steve. It’s easy enough to tilt his phone subtly out of the way of Steve’s view before he taps the option to download the image.

Not Safe For Steve is right, but it’s also not safe for Bucky’s consumption because his heartrate just skyrocketed hard enough for it to be dangerous.

The photo’s simple enough; Bucky recognizes Clint’s Bed-Stuy bedroom from the purple walls and the cracks. It’s not a selfie - the only part of Clint’s body that’s visible is his hand, slick and shining in the lamplight with what’s probably lube, fingers wrapped around one of those dildos.

Shit. Is he- ?

“Are we doing anything important?”

“All surveillance is important,” Steve says distractedly. “We need information.”

“Alright, let me know if there’s an emergency,” Bucky replies, heading for the elevator. “Actually? Don’t. That’s what Sam is for.”

“This is a _mission_ ,” Steve says, but Bucky’s already clicked the button for the tenth floor and now he’s using his other hand to try and figure out how video chats work.

Bucky gets into his room for the night just as the phone screen lights up with Clint’s bedroom, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open windows. It’s the middle of the night here but Bucky checks to make sure no one’s in the hall anyway before he drops down in an armchair and sets the phone on the coffee table, adjusting so he’s in view.

He realizes a second later he’s done it so his hands are free and watches the tiny video feed of himself in the corner blush.

“Clint?”

“Hey,” Clint’s voice echoes around the room, a little tinny. “That was quick.”

“Don’t know what you expected, showing me that,” Bucky replies.

“Yeah, well,” Clint says, voice a little strained in that way Bucky’s learned means he’s turned on. “Got more to show you, if you’re into it. Like what you see?”

“Sure. Why am I looking out your window?”

“What? Oh- shit, sorry, camera’s the wrong way around. Hang on.”

“Thought I was supposed to be the old-fashioned one,” Bucky says, and then the screen flips and his breath catches.

The phone’s situated in a way that Bucky knows it’s sitting at the end of Clint’s bed, although all the covers have been shoved off to one side. It’s been propped up at the perfect angle to see Clint at the other end of the bed in sharp focus - looking at him though, Bucky’s kind of wishing that he’d kept the view of the window because this is a lot to handle after a week of being stuck in Russia.

Clint’s got a pillow under his hips and two fingers in his ass and somehow worse than that is the way he’s got his teeth sunk in his lip like he’s trying to stifle any telling noises. Bucky feels dizzy with how quickly all his blood floods southwards. He must give something away because there’s a flicker of a smirk on Clint’s face, although it disappears a second later when Clint’s fingers push deeper inside.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. It comes out a little reverent - some part of him still can’t believe that Clint’s doing this for him. It’s markedly different from the sex they normally have, but it’s no less hot. (It might be _more_ hot.)

Clint chooses that moment to reach for something off-camera and overbalances, falling off the bed with a thump.

“Don’t laugh,” comes a muffled voice, and Bucky snorts.

Clint reappears a second later looking even more mussed than he had to begin with, but he slaps something down onto the mattress with an air of triumph to him and Bucky gets distracted.

The dildo’s big enough to be put Bucky to shame but honestly it’s kind of hot, rather than giving him an inferiority complex. Also, his dick doesn’t sparkle. It’s just _pretty,_ in an alien sort of way. The surface is bubbled, a soft pastel pink at the tip that fades out into a predictably familiar purple.

Clint shifts back onto the mattress again and grins at the screen. Bucky can’t help smiling back because that’s his idiot right there, stupid as hell and even more gorgeous. (Clint’s not _really_ stupid, but he just fell off the bed. Come on.)

“Now that’s over,” Clint says. He’s still hard.

To be fair, _Bucky’s_ still hard too, and he palms over it through his tac pants as Clint gets settled. “Gonna put on a show for me, Barton?”

“For you? Anything,” Clint answers with a barely-there smile, only it doesn’t feel like a joke. He’s stroking his dick slowly with wet fingers and there’s arousal curling hard in Bucky’s gut from the sight.

“C’mon,” Bucky says. “Fuckin’ tease.”

Clint laughs a little at that. It’s a nice sound, and Bucky’s _almost_ distracted from what they’re doing. Not entirely, but enough that it all comes back in a flash when Clint reaches for the monster dildo. They’re alone but Bucky can still feel the heat from his own face when he watches Clint slide it in, and he can see a tinge of self-consciousness on Clint’s face too.

Clint stops once it’s all the way in and his eyes flutter shut.

He opens them a second later, gaze gone hazy and distracted. Probably because of the _big_ _goddamn_ _dildo_ in his ass. “Is this weird?”

“It’s extremely weird,” Bucky replies. “This is one of the weirdest fucking things I’ve ever done.”

“Oh.”

“That doesn’t mean you _stop_.”

“Ha,” Clint says, idly pushing the dildo in and out. “You like it. Gonna get your dick out for me, Barnes?”

“You look like you’ve got enough dick right there,” Bucky answers, but he unzips his pants anyway. The first touch of metal fingers to his aching cock makes a groan slip from his lips unbidden.

“Funny guy,” Clint says. His voice catches on a moan and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his next stroke. “God, Bucky, why’d you have to leave?”

Clint’s idle thrusts are losing their slow rhythm, going faster and more erratic as Bucky speeds up his own hand. It’s just _hot_ watching every muscle in Clint’s body tense with every push of the alien-looking dildo, watching his face go slack with pleasure as it hits the right spots. God, Bucky wants to be there, wants to bat Clint’s hands away and take control.

“Fuck,” he says, thumbing over the head and watching Clint’s back arch.

“You should-” Clint starts, breaks off with a noise that’s more of a sob. “ _Shit_. Want you here, fucking me.”

Bucky’s so turned on his entire body is throbbing with it. “Fucking you with your alien dildo collection?”

“Fucking me with my alien dildo collection,” Clint agrees breathlessly, and he tries to laugh but it breaks off into a loud moan. He’s getting close, Bucky can tell from the way his hips are meeting each thrust and his other hand that’s ended up on his dick. Bucky wonders if Clint’s adventurous enough to try taking the dildo and Bucky’s cock at the same time, and his mind turns to static for a second at the thought.

“Come for me,” he says, suddenly desperate to see it.

Clint’s not normally one for orders but he takes to this one like a fish to water, and Bucky watches as his head falls back and his back arches. Clint comes in wet stripes on his own stomach, still playing with the dildo as he makes enough noise that Bucky’s glad Clint is his own landlord.

Bucky’s already keyed up to a hundred and when Clint pushes the dildo back in all the way and moans, his own orgasm instantly shudders over him. He zones out for a minute and then glances up at his phone, where Clint’s gone boneless on the screen.

“You alright?”

“Nope,” Clint’s reply comes weakly. “I’m dead. Or I would be dead if I hadn’t already died of embarrassment last week.”

After a moment of thought, Bucky gives up and wipes his sticky hand on his pants. “You can’t die, I’ve got plans.”

Clint groans. “I _just_ came, Barnes. Give a guy a break before you come up with another idea.”

Bucky can’t quite help the grin on his face, but luckily Clint can’t see it. “Good?”

“Good,” Clint agrees faintly. He’s starting to relax and from knowing how he gets post-orgasm, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s going to be passed out in a few minutes. Bucky wishes he’d clean up _first_ , but that’d probably be asking too much.

“We’ve got plenty more dildos to work with,” Bucky says. “How much do those things cost anyway?”

Clint shoots up again, eyes gone wide and panicked. “Bucky, do not look at the website, I swear to god I got them on clearance, do _not_ -”


End file.
